


Appraisal

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Black Emporium, M/M, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian receives an unexpected invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appraisal

Dorian stood before a towering glass case that contained….something.  

At first glance, it appeared to be an incredibly arthritic tree. A second glance—or rather, when it coughed at him—it revealed itself to be the petrified corpse of a woman.

“You'll pardon my ignorance," said Dorian. "I had no idea you people had a northern branch.”

“Northern branch?!” The dead woman’s voice bounded up and down the hollow chambers of her body like a chipmunk. “As if you can call that cheap knockoff my brother runs in Kirkwall a shop. I am Zenon! The Antiquarianess! Minister of Mysteries, Lady of Darkest Night and Peril Greatest!"

"Magister Dorian Pavus of Minrathous." He swept a low bow. "The pleasure is all-"

"Yes, yes, I know who you are, do not interrupt me. _Ahem_. I am Zenon! The Antiquarianess! And this is.....THE BLACKEST EMPORIUM!”

All around them torches  _whooshed_ and, absurdly, Dorian felt his heart flutter. There was no shortage of magisters who would give their left hand to stand where he was. Even in Tevinter, everyone knew that only those destined for greatness—the heroes who would change the history of Thedas forever—received invitations to the Emporiums.

Maybe that's why his own summons had given him pause. 

For over two years, he had struggled to keep the fledgling Lucerni Party at best alive, at worst from becoming a joke. After watching Trevelyan's reforms spread like wildfire through the southern Chantry, it had been a slap in the face to return to Tevinter and find himself a man in his mid-thirties alone trying to tear down an empire of corruption. It didn't help that the only thing anyone seemed to care about was asking after his quaint little sabbatical with the Inquisition.  

_Dorian! There you are, lad. I've been writing a paper on the recent phenomenon of rifts, and seeing as you've had first-hand experience with the Breach, would you be willing to-_

_Dorian, my dear boy, is it true that the disbanding of the Inquisition was merely a ruse to assuage the mundanes? I've heard the queerest rumors about the Inquisitor's measures to keep that College of his from burning to the ground...._

_How does it feel, Dorian_ , whispered a pair of painted lips behind his ear on the crowded floor of the Magisterium, _knowing that the only thing you'll be remembered for is rolling over in a Free Marcher's bed?_

As his attention refocused, he became aware that Zenon had been droning for the past minute. 

"Wait." Dorian stepped forward into the lantern light at the center of the Emporium. "Not to look a gift dracolisk in the mouth, but before we take this any further, I must know....why me?" 

"Is it not obvious?"

"Apart from my unsurpassed magical talents, excellent hair, and what some might call an ahead-of-the-curve fashion sense-"

The dead woman coughed. 

"I merely meant that you call upon people who have great potential, yes? Those who are destined to shake the very foundations of Thedas itself?" 

"Typically, they are less _prodding_ and more gracious."

"Does that mean you can see into my future?" The floorboards creaked as he stepped closer to the case. "Does the Lucerni Party endure? Or does my motion to eradicate child slavery pass and lead to more reform-"

"The future is not my purview," said Zenon. "Not since the urchin dropped and shattered the Orb of Seeing while cleaning it. You would think I'd have seen that coming...."

"Then why?" It was difficult not to sound pleading. "Is because I'm the laughingstock of the Imperium right now? Surely you must have a list of 'great disasters' to round out your list of 'great heroes and legends.'"

Zenon grumbled. "I have scouted you for some time, magister. You are a man who has traveled far and seen much."

"Yes, but-"

"You are undeniably  _unique_ in your experiences, _singular_ your expertise, and in all the Imperium, there is no one better suited to my time today than you. In fact, I brought you here for the express purpose of appraising an item that I recently acquired."

"Oh?" That caught his attention. "Some rare magical artifact then?"

"Yes, one whose value only you are capable of estimating. Are you at last satisfied with your own import?"  

Dorian turned his face away. It was hard not breathe a sigh of relief. In truth, it had seemed a cruel jest when he woke that morning to find a crisp, sturdy black envelope on his desk beside his glass of morning brandy, enclosing a simple invitation with not-so-simple instructions to a street in the harbor district of Minrathous that had not existed since the First Blight. Here at last was confirmation in his darkest hour that what he did mattered. It felt like victory. 

It felt like hope. 

"Very well, then." He folded his arms into the voluminous sleeves of his cloak. "How may I be of service?" 

Zenon bellowed something unintelligible. The floorboards trembled, and out of the dark lurched a dwarven golem, bearing something covered in a white cloth in its massive palm.

"You see, it was quite difficult to come by...." said Zenon.

"I imagine most things in your inventory are," said Dorian.

"We do indeed house many one-of-kind artifacts, but _this_?"

The golem lifted the cloth. Underneath was a tall glass pickling jar, and inside, suspended in formaldehyde and glowing faintly green- 

Dorian's stomach dropped out. 

"No." He choked and spun away, covering his mouth. "No no no no. How did....how did you even come by that?"  

"The same way I come by all my wares: a great deal of coin." Zenon chuckled. "Isn't it marvelous? You cannot fathom the lengths and bribes I had to go through to retrieve it!"

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut against the rush of vomit and memory. Some nights, lying awake in the Inquisitor's bed in Skyhold, Dorian had taken to reading. Trevelyan never did. “Sleep is more important,” he’d grumble, and collapse into bed like a felled tree, leaving his lover to pour over ancient tomes beside him. When at last the candles had guttered down to nothing, and Dorian was sure Trevelyan was asleep, he’d reach over and carefully, so carefully, lift that famous marked left hand from the sheets and spread it over his book's pages, so that the words were illuminated by the glassy green glow of—

"This is why you brought me here?" He wiped his trembling lips on his sleeve. "To appraise _that_?"

"Why else would I invite you?" said Zenon. 

The air seemed to fold out of his lungs. "I thought it was because I was someone important, someone who was going to change Tevinter!" He rounded on her. "Am I to believe that the Blackest Emporium is an establishment of such low integrity as to invite me under false pretenses? That you have no prophecies of greatness for me, nothing at all?"

"My dear, I have plenty of prophecies of greatness for sale on Floor 3, Shelf B," said Zenon drily. "I have relics and weapons beyond counting for heroes who will bring the Imperium to greatness again. Just none for you."

Dorian shut his eyes. It was amazing how no one had made him feel like so much a child since his father. 

"You are, however, the Inquisitor's paramour," said Zenon. "When men are fairy tales and books are written by rabbits, that is what you will be remembered as, and so, who better to appraise His Worship's amputated hand? Look how it glows! As if the very bones themselves were scorched by Fade energy! What do you imagine its worth?"   

“Nothing, it’s worth…." His eyes stung. "Damn you, why don’t you ask Solas?!”

He did not wait for an answer. He turned, yanked open the shop door, and slammed it shut behind him as he marched down the labyrinth of tunnels back up to street-level. He emerged in a bustling Minrathous market and was lost almost instantly in the crowd. 

 

* * *

 

“Amatus….” said Dorian, lying on the divan in his study. The evening sunlight crept an orange stripe up the wall above his head. “Do you remember what became of your hand?”

“I guess we left it in the Crossroads, didn’t we?” said Trevelyan. His voice echoed slightly through the crystal.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. He remembered, like a needle under his skin, the way Bull's great ax had whistled through the air, followed by the thick, wet slap of dead meat hitting the dirt beside where Sera held the Inquisitor down.

They’d tourniqueted his stump with Sera's belt and Dorian’s white cloak. Then they’d run, Bull thundering ahead of them all with their small, dying leader cradled to his chest.

Dorian flinched away from the memory as if it were a flame held to his face. It had been over a year, and he still couldn’t look at it.

“Why do you ask?” said Trevelyan.

“No reason,” said Dorian, and pressed his lips to the crystal in its casing. “Do you think I’m doing good work here?”

“What?”

“Do you think my work matters? And before you say _yes darling_  and tell me how much you adore me...” Dorian took a deep breath. “Tell me. Do you think anything I do will make a difference? Or is the most I can hope to be remembered as is your bedmate?”

"Dorian-"

"Be honest." 

"In my experience," said Trevelyan slowly. "Power is a visitor. You can't control when it arrives, and you can't control when it leaves. All you can do is use it the best you can while you have it. You're a powerful man, love, and you try. That's all you can do."

"Do you actually believe I can change Tevinter?"  

There was a long, long silence.

“I don’t know,” said Trevelyan at last. "I hope so." 

“Fair enough.” Dorian closed his eyes. He’d truly been excited to receive that invitation. He thought it meant….well, it didn't matter what he thought. "I wish you were here, amatus." 

"Make it so I can be," said Trevelyan. "Otherwise I'll show up on your doorstep when you least expect it and give you a proper heart attack."

 _It wouldn't be the worst shock I've had today,_ he thought sadly, and kissed the crystal as its light faded away. 


End file.
